


Marked By The Darkness

by Pulchritudinem



Series: Child of Eden [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Basically Cas/Sam and Crowley/Dean pair ups, Because let's be honest here, Destiel - Freeform, Other, Prequel, This is basically what I wanted out of Season 10, also all them demon pranks that were never utilized hnnnnnng, and a Bad-ass Sam, and a very dying angel who don't need this shit, and really fresh for the show!, and some sassy Crowley, but that didn't happen so now i'm pretty bitter :/, so expect some flirty Demon!Dean, those team-ups would've been hella rad, who's also pretty sassy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 11:16:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6903616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pulchritudinem/pseuds/Pulchritudinem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even though Sam and Cas managed to bring back Dean from the Mark of Cain, it becomes painfully obvious that their worries have not yet been resolved as Castiel’s transcendence into death gradually turns into a much more imminent and real threat than they would’ve liked. In the hunt for a cure, Dean manages to slip up and fall harder than he ever has as the mark reclaims its hold on him, leading Sam and Cas to pair up once again to defeat Crowley and Dean. Will they be able to do it in time to save Castiel? Or will he die trying?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marked By The Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> This is the Prequel to Touched By An Angel, which involves Team Free Will getting caught up with Heaven's two most adorable angel kids! I felt it was necessary to explain how that all happened though, and decided to split the story into two! So yeah! Enjoy! (๑°꒵°๑)･*♡  
> ♡♡♡SPECIAL THANKS TO MY LITTLE POTATO FLOOF, PROTECT CASTIEL (PREV. MAID MISHA), FOR BETA READING THIS AND GOING ABOVE AND BEYOND!!!♡♡♡

 

It was a quiet day in the bunker for the Winchesters and their angel as they mostly sat around and tried to enjoy the peace that was blessed over them while it lasted. After all, their life had never been a slice of pie, as Dean would so eloquently put it. After the dark ventures of Demon Dean and his odd Sherlock-Watson duo with Crowley, All they wanted was a break from all the madness. Dean didn’t like to comment much on those times and as it so happened, neither did Castiel nor Sam. The younger Winchester had refused to talk to Dean for a while, focusing all of his attention to any other living thing, which just happened to be Castiel. It was obvious that he still had sympathies for him as Cas was barely hanging onto his angelhood by a mere thread. As it stood, Castiel was prone to disappearing any day now, and Heaven didn’t seem to have a remedy for the angel either.

While in the hot pursuit of Demon Dean, searching for a way to return Cas’ grace had remained a rather untouched issue, which only served to enrage Sam further. To him, it seemed like Castiel had only ever gotten the short-end of the stick ever since he merely _met_ his brother, Dean. Sam had done his absolute best in trying to get his brother back so as to get to Castiel’s problem quicker—who had insisted that it didn’t matter to him whether they retrieved his grace or not—but as soon as they did, it was cold gestures and icy looks from Sam to Dean.

Castiel had noticed this change between the two Winchesters and immediately felt at fault for it. Little did the dissipating angel know that Sam was still stiff about the whole Gadreel and Mark of Cain ordeals as well. Either way, of course, Cas still felt that it was his responsibility to mend the severed bonds between the two brothers, helping and trying to get them to kid around with each other again but only ever succeeding at making himself look rather undignified and silly, and Sam only relented when he began to notice Cas’ silent stares of grief, like it pained him to see the two trudge on that way…awkward and heartbroken as Dean attempted small talk only to receive cold silence back from him. It was even less fun when Cas tried to help it along but couldn’t. It just made Sam feel like an ass to someone who didn’t deserve it. So Sam had begun to make an effort to remotely converse with Dean. And well, judging by Dean’s small smile, that was a start.

Of course, the whole Dean and Cas situation was also still under construction as well. While Cas didn’t fault Dean for anything, it sure made Dean feel shitty. Especially after they had just repaired things between themselves. Dean had confessed about why he had kicked the angel out of the bunker and his animosities towards Cas after leaving him out of distrust were faded into unprecedented winds. The angel had lost his army for him only for Dean to screw it all up with the blood lust he began to crave on behalf of the mark and his failed abstinence of the First Blade. As the angel saw it, Crowley was fully to blame, but Dean knew better. And as he wasn’t on the bestie-wagon with the King of Hell anymore, he sure wished he could tear his insides out. Or at least he would have liked to if the very idea didn’t freak Cas and Sam out of their wits. While the Mark had begun to fade, Sam and Cas knew that if on his own, Dean’s soul became tainted again, it was the demon fiasco all over again.

Once soiled by the mark, the soul was susceptible to returning to its previous state at a moment’s notice.

At least with Castiel, Dean always found an open door as opposed to with Sam, but that didn’t mean it was the same as it was before. Things had become much more wary among the three, like Dean would bust out into a psychopathic rage again. And with Cas becoming increasingly ill due to his fading grace, things had become eerily quiet and calm in their supposed home, much like the way two children waited for their beloved pet to finally switch off the lights on their lives. It was unnerving, having a sick angel in the house, but they had researched and questioned and not a single hint was found towards Castiel’s benefit. Wherever they looked, nothing mentioned a spell for kicking out the angels or how to regain one’s own grace if lost. Hell, they weren’t even sure if Castiel’s grace was even still in existence. For all they knew, Metatron had used it all up, or done away with it, but whatever it was, it left their broken team feeling more useless than ever. Without their normally healthy angel, it wasn’t like they were about to pray to that dickwad, or any other flying jerks for that matter either. To the Winchesters, the only angels worth their trust were either dead or dying. And so heaven’s guidance was more or less out of the question. And without divine interference, it seemed that all remained despondent. If there was ever a moment in their lives where they felt true hopelessness, this would be it. They had tried, and they had failed, leading to the two Winchester’s watching Castiel’s pale and frail-looking figure wither under the soft September sun.

Lately, that’s all Castiel did. He would either settle on a patch of grass outside and gaze at the sky hopelessly, or go out for a stroll. He wouldn’t fly anywhere anymore because the Winchesters had gotten wind of how his wings had begun to disappear with him, therefore making flying a truly hard feat. Chances were that he wouldn’t make the trip back to heaven even if he tried. The brothers figured as much because of how heaven favoured Castiel once again, meaning that there shouldn’t have been any complications keeping Cas out of his home. It pained the two boys to watch the angel look up forlornly into the clouds, like he was remembering the feel of them as he flew right through them at a speed that left even the light staggering behind as it tried to chase him.

Eventually, Castiel became so haggard that Sam and Dean had to keep him cooped up in the bunker all day for worry that the angel was doing himself more harm than good. Cas was a particularly vulnerable target as it stood, and if he happened to be attacked, it didn’t help ease the mind of the Winchesters that he would probably be as defenseless as a declawed kitten. He barely had any sort of angelic power anymore, and the stolen grace was practically burning out with him. It was different than abandoning or having his grace torn out of him. When the grace inside an angel ceases to be, it drags the celestial being with it.

Sam, as Dean painfully noticed, had made a closely threaded bond with the dying angel while Dean had been trapped in his darkness and murder high. They seemed to care for each other much more fondly than he could recall, and it could’ve been simply for the gravity of the situation, but something in him tugged at his heart anyway as he watched silently from the corridor in the shadows across from Cas’ newly-made room in the bunker—which was also prepared in his absence. What he didn’t understand was if these feelings were due to how they had practically left him for an outsider or if it was because he had felt oddly special for being the only one in Cas’ eyes. The one he’d sacrifice anything for. …Would he still do that for him? With Sam in the front, he felt as though the answer was as clear as day. After all, it was he who was pretty much responsible for his entire angel’s pain. Who would remain at his side when all he seemed to brew was trouble and lacked a certain capacity for compassion, unlike his brother could? He would have switched sides too if that were the case, but here he stood, waiting for what he assumed was a redemption he didn’t deserve. What other reason could there be for his need to talk to the angel he used to think of as his own?

In conclusion, he always proved that his nerve meant nothing after all, because at the end of the day, yet again, he made no move to talk with his friend. Unbeknownst to him, Sam already knew what was going on, and he intended to act on it. While he was still a bit shaken from Dean’s crude demon rampage, he was always quick to recover, and stood up for the trial he knew neither angel nor man would put themselves to. He trusted Dean wouldn’t drop a dime again with sick Castiel in the same room, but he knew it was now or never. Assuming the angel didn’t make a comeback from this one, that is. And surely, with the way his entire existence seemed to be shimmering as faintly as a burnt out star, it seemed to be going down that way.

 

* * *

 

Dean was sitting at the dinner table flipping coins and attempting to catch them when Sam walked in with two cups of coffee in hand. He gestured one toward Dean and his lip quirked up, nodding in appreciation. It was hard for him, and Dean knew it, so seeing his brother trying to fix up their terrible rollercoaster of a relationship was a huge relief. Lately, it had been like this a lot. Silent, but peaceful, and a lot less tension in the air. Occasionally, they even had small talk, which brought Dean’s spirits up considerably. While he barely had the gall to speak with Castiel, he sure had it in him to talk with Sam. He just needed something normal in his life again, and Sam was just about the only normal he’d ever had, the one thing that had always kept him stable, the one thing that had always remained consistent in his life, and the one thing he was never confused about. He always knew what he felt when he was with his little brother, and it made it such a comfort to be around him. So when Sam pulled a chair back to sit with him, Dean couldn’t help but smile.

At the sight, Sam’s brow drew up considerably, but he returned the smile all the same.

“Hey.” Sam said, sinking into the seat adjacent to his.

A small chuckle escaped Dean’s mouth as he mirrored his brother’s “Hey.”

His brother seemed to be a lot more comfortable around him again if the small smile on him was any indication, but he still didn’t want to push it, so he always waited for Sam to speak up first.

“How are you feeling?” Sam asked, offering him a napkin politely, which Dean accepted.

The older brother rolled his eyes. “How many times you gonna ask me that, Dr. Phil?” leaning back in his chair casually, he drunk his coffee. “I’m fine.” He breathed out, savouring the bitter flavor in his mouth.

Sam didn’t seem so sure, and he looked at him skeptically. “The mark hasn’t been acting up?” he insisted, and Dean held back a sigh.

“You mean do I feel like Jack the Ripper? Like eating baby brains? Like buying black alien eye contacts and carving pentagrams over the bathroom walls with bloody, chipped finger nails?” the dirty blonde quirked his eyebrows up before crossing his arms accusingly. Sam simply snorted back.

“If that’s what you were like when you were a demon, sure.”

Dean stared at his thick black coffee then, still hating hearing Sam refer to him as a demon. He hadn’t really been a demon. Not fully anyway, according to Crowley. He supposed it really didn’t make a difference though as long as you sported two black eyes. Even in Dean’s book, that wasn’t human anymore.

“Look, I get you don’t wanna talk about it, Dean. Neither do I. But until the mark is gone, and I mean, _really_ gone, I need to know how you’re doing.”

Dean didn’t say anything. He got it, he really did. He would’ve done the same, most likely. But it didn’t mean he had to like it. These sessions with Sam were all he had though right now, so he sucked it up and sighed.

“No. I would’ve told you if I felt…” he made a gesture with his hand and Sam nodded solemnly.

Adding some sugar into his coffee, the brunette tapped the table with his fingers rather impatiently, a habit Dean came to associate with his brother’s pensiveness. His opposite foot usually joined him and his stare was blank as he looked ahead. When his brows furrowed and his body slouched grumpily, Dean had had enough.

He snapped his fingers in front of him. “Alright, talk, you sasquatch. What’s got you by the pigtails?”

That got the younger sibling out of his stupor, and Dean shot him a smirk in return.

“Thanks for reminding about your stupid prank from back in the fourth grade.”

The freckled boy smiled triumphantly. “Anytime, little bro.”

There was a small pause between them before Dean started again. “C’mon, you looked pretty good in—”

“Yeah, I don’t think so.” Sam cut in threateningly and Dean grinned like a maniac, throwing his hands up in the air.

“Alright, fair enough.”

How he hadn’t woken up during it, Sam will never know, but back in elementary, Dean had come to pick him up from middle school only to catch the younger Winchester fast asleep on a bench near the playground. So what did Dean Winchester do? He tied his little brother’s hair up into two little pigtails. And of course, Sam, being the all too trusting child that he was, didn’t bother to find the shit-eating grin on his brother to be all that suspicious when he woke up. He had assumed that it must’ve been him drooling or something, so all he did was wipe at his mouth self-consciously. But when the other children around him started laughing, that’s when he realized something was definitely off. All the kids at school had begun to nickname him after the unfortunate incident for the rest of that week and he complained to Dean about it. When the dirty blonde shrugged and said they’d be gone before they knew it, Sam gave up. Just thinking about that horrendous week made him sick.

Needing desperately to change the subject, Sam cleared his throat obnoxiously loud, and you could bet that only made Dean’s grin widen further. “Anyway,” he ground out, ignoring the stupid look on his older brother’s face as he slowly regained composure and feigned a look of dull, boring, sincerity. “I was just thinking…you seem a little on edge whenever Cas is around. Any reason why?” he inquired, making Dean’s mind snap to attention. Well if he expected anything out of him, it was most definitely not that.

Dean’s face remained indifferent despite this. “What are you talking about? Me and Cas are totally cool now. Always have been.”

Sam smiled back like he’d just eaten bad cheese. “Uh, yeaaah, that’s not exactly what I meant.” He hunched over and played with the rim of his cup, biting his lip as if wondering how to put what he was about to say into words. “Um, it’s just that…you avoid Cas like he’s got cooties or something.”

Dean stopped sipping his drink in alarm, but tried playing it off cool as he realized that his little brother was getting much too specific for his liking. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” he grinned cheekily, before going back to his beverage, pulling the now interesting newspaper on the table towards himself nonchalantly.

The younger man looked at him in disbelief. “I’m talking about how he tells you good morning just about every day and how you practically spill your coffee all over him when he does. And how about that time when he asked you how your trip was after you came home from a three-day hunt and you tripped over the carpet? Or that time he started coughing at dinner and you had to excuse yourself like some asshole with issues against harmlessly ill people?”

Dean had to refrain from choking on the hot liquid as Sam hit the mark on that last one. He shook his head though, looking somewhat indignant despite himself. “Oh come on, I did _not_ trip. I just wanted to lie on the carpet, is that such a crime?”

Sam looked positively annoyed. “ _Dean_.” He warned.

“I’m not doing this right now,” the dirty blonde sighed aggravated, seeing now that his brother wasn’t in the mood for diversions anymore.

“Doing what?” The brunette gritted his teeth.

“Playing your little game.” He explained, pushing his chair back to get up. When Sam got up to catch his arm, he glared back.

“This isn’t some half-assed joke, Dean, and you know it! Cas is…he’s—!”

“I know what he is!” Dean finally snapped, dropping his mug to the table roughly. There was a small silence where neither relented, and that only made Dean’s pent up anger wind up further. “So what is it that you want, huh? Maybe it’s easy for you, but it ain’t easy as hell for me! You get to walk around knowing you’ve done more good than bad when it comes to Cas, but I’m not in the same boat as you, man! Because of me, Cas is in _worse_ shape than before. And you know what a real ass move would be? For me to walk up to him trying to help as if I had been there for him from the start! I can’t lose Cas, man! Not when I’ve fucked up so bad. He’s family! I don’t know what I’ll do when he’s gone. I just…I think I might go nuts.” He rambled, his voice actually shaking despite his attempts at gulping down his nerves. “And you,” he pointed toward Sam accusingly, who by now had a very stupefied look on him. “You’ve known it from the start that ever since Cas met me, things have only gone downhill for him. I know that’s what you think of me, and I don’t blame you, but don’t come to me wondering why I avoid Cas, because you damn well know why! You’ve always known why!” Dean yelled, his lips fixing into a tight line and his eyes glassy.

Sam was completely and utterly shocked at Dean’s, to some extent, childish outburst. But the amount of emotion and truth behind it was astounding, and he felt like a total douchebag knowing that he’d pushed Dean so far on a topic that was apparently so sensitive to him.

So he’d known after all, what influence he had on Cas. He had been ready to defend the angel had Dean tried to play it off as nothing, but now that he knew what was really going on, he realized that his brother was just afraid—terrified even—of confronting something he knew he felt he had no right being around.

Sam blinked at his big brother, admittedly still a bit dumbfounded as he sighed and sank back into his seat. Dean covered his face with his hands as if that could erase the pain he felt. “I’m sorry, I just…Damn, I’m such an ass. There is a million ways I could’ve said that without sounding like such an ungrateful jerk.”

“No no! It’s fine.” Sam replied hastily. “It was my fault. I didn’t know you felt so bad about the whole thing and if anyone’s the ass, it’s me. Although you _do_ make a pretty big ass yourself…” He responded back playfully.

Dean scoffed, but cracked a smile nonetheless, removing his hands from his face tiredly. “I just…What do we do if we can’t help him, Sammy?” the blonde asked.

“You gotta’ stop thinking like that, Dean. I’m sure we can find something. I mean, we always do. After all, fate never stopped us from trashing the apocalypse, who’s to say it will now?”

Dean was about to make a sarcastic comment along the lines of, ‘ _So what? Cas’ death is now the equivalent to the end of the world?’_ when his head shot up and his eyes widened. “Wait a minute. That thing you just said about fate. What about _her_?” he soliloquized.

Sam squinted at Dean and shook his head. “I’m sorry, _what?_ ”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I mean, _Fate_. Y’know, like the Fate that tried to fry as back when we had that weird dream where Balthazar hated the Titanic song and un-sunk the cruise liner because of it?”

Sam’s face lightened up with understanding as the memory clicked into place. “Oh! Right! _That_ Fate.” There was a pregnant pause as Dean waited for Sam to catch on.

“Well?” Dean demanded.

“I don’t get it, what does this have to do with Cas, other than she tried to kill us because of him?” Sam wondered blankly.

Dean practically face palmed. “I’m saying, what if we have ourselves a little chat with her instead?”

Finally, Sam understood. “Ah, I get it. You’re thinking maybe _she_ can help fix up Cas, or better yet, scratch his name off her death list, am I right?”

“Exactly!” Dean exclaimed, pleased. “And they call you the smart one.” He teased, earning a glare from Sam.

“Okay, fine, but what makes you so sure she’ll even listen to us?” Sam snorted. “Last time I checked, she wanted us dead.” He pointed out.

Dean got up care freely, waving a hand at Sam dismissively. “Naw, man. Now you’re just sweating on the little details.” He walked away from the table and headed for the books whistling.

Sam’s jaw dropped in disbelief. “ _Little details?”_ Sam shook his head and huffed in an affronted manner. “ _Dean,_ we’re talking about someone who has the ability to kill us with the flick of her pen. I think these ‘little details’ are _worth_ sweating over!” He replied crossly. Dean didn’t seem to hear him though as he continued to walk away leisurely. Sam frowned. “You don’t even know how to summon her! How are we gonna ‘convince’ her if we can’t even talk to her?!”  He called out in exasperation.

“What d’ya think I’m doing. Sammy?” Dean yelled back with a roll of his eyes.

Sam sighed, sinking into his seat further. It was going to be a long, _long_ week, he could tell.

 

During Sam and Dean’s scavenger hunt for a summoning ritual that would conjure up Fate, Cas stumbled upon them in the library of their bunker, peeking inside and coughing into his fist faintly.

“What are you guys doing?” the angel asked, trying to sound casual, a small smile adorning his pale face. The two boys hadn’t heard him walk in and therefore jumped at the frail, but familiar gravelly voice. When they finally spotted him, they both felt relieved that he didn’t seem to find them suspicious, if his body language was any indication. From the looks of it, the poor guy just didn’t want to be alone.

The older hunter deflated a bit. “Oh uh, heya, Cas.” Dean responded fairly pleasant. “We were just…” he looked around and glanced at Sam who shrugged at him rather urgently. “We were, err, _are_ looking for books on uh…” he was about to say monsters, but he bit his tongue before he got the chance because that was about the stupidest thing he could say. _C’mon, Dean. Monsters? Really? Like, no shit, Sherlock._

Thankfully, Cas seemed to have saved them by assuming the obvious choice that for some reason didn’t cross either brother’s mind. “You’re not still looking for a way to retrieve my grace, are you?” He said it like it was nothing, but Sam and Dean could hear the sad note in between the thought.

Luckily, Sam stood up for this one. “Yeah…sorry, Cas.” He said, sounding sincere. Well, technically, it was half true. They weren’t sure yet, but maybe Fate could get his grace back. Dean even did him the favour of looking sheepish.

Castiel sighed, but smiled anyways. “I doubt you’ll find anything, but you think I could…accompany as you work? I would help, but…” He then proceeded to cough violently, probably because he had been holding it in as he tried to finish his own sentence.

The two brothers looked at each other uneasily before both turning to give their angel a sympathetic look.

“Don’t worry about it Cas, you don’t have to help us if you don’t feel well. In fact, you’re not obliged to do anything since it does concern _you_.” Sam reassured him.

“Yeah, just sit tight, buddy.” Dean assured back to him.

Cas wilted at that, probably feeling useless again, so Dean amended his mistake by gently pulling out a book he saw whose label looked pretty interesting. It wasn’t a regular textbook. In fact, it was a fictional one about a bee. It had reminded him of Cas and his odd fascination with them at the time he had had taken over Sam’s memories of the cage. Though why the Men of Letter’s had such a book was beyond him. It could’ve been that occasionally, they just needed something to take their minds off all the nightmares that came with the job. Or maybe it was lot more simpler than that and it was just a distractor for the kids. Whatever the reason, Dean was just glad they had it.

He smoothed his hands over the thing and felt the indentations where an intricate golden design crawled over the cover’s edges, its shimmering patterns complementing the fairy tale look of the book. Dean knew it was probably too childish, but he really hoped it would make Cas feel better anyway. After all, that’s what children books were for, right?

“Hey, if you want, I found this book you might like to read.” He handed it to Castiel, who took it curiously and sat by his legs to look over at it in wonder, mimicking the way Dean had traced his palm over the smooth surface.

Dean looked uncomfortable as Cas sunk to the ground by his feet and wanted to protest, almost insisting that he could bring in a chair, but gave in when it looked like the blue-eyed individual was already sucked into the book. He sighed, ignoring the look Sam was giving the two as he continued to shuffle through manuscripts and their pages.

He turned back briefly to see Sam was still staring and he pointed a finger right at him in offense. _Don’t you even dare,_ he mouthed, and Sam just laughed.

Through a gap he made in one of the shelves when slipping a volume out of place, Sam saw that Cas had fallen asleep with the golden bee book in his lap. He looked around for Dean but couldn’t see him. “Hey, Dean?” Sam called out softly, but loud enough so that Dean could hear no matter where he stood in the room. That was if he was still even there. For all he knew, the blonde was off on a bathroom break.

It took a while, probably because Dean had been in the middle of reading a line or something, but he eventually mumbled out a, “Yeah?” From the sound of it, he had progressed to the back as it had rung slightly muffled.

“Cas fell asleep.” He explained.

There was a sudden silence followed by a curse, and then some footsteps. “Dammit, Cas.” There was the heavy sound of a hardcover being closed shut and the scraping of leatherbacks being pushed against each other. Dean had shoved his book back into place as he made his way back to where he remembered leaving the mellow, blue-eyed raven. He stopped when he finally encountered the sleeping figure, his legs sprawled out before him and his head hunched over limply. “ _Dammit_.” Dean mumbled again, leaning down to gently shrug the angel awake. “I feel bad for doing this, buddy, but your neck is gonna start hurting like hell if it isn’t already sore.” The blonde whispered desperately.

After just a few tugs, Castiel was up and groggy, his soft blue eyes fluttering open daintily. “Dean?” The angel groaned, sitting up and rubbing his weary eyes.

“Yeah, it’s me. I need you to get up and get some proper rest elsewhere.” He smiled gently, hoping he hadn’t alarmed the poor fella. “…Unless you like it here on the cold, hard floor.” Dean grinned, attempting a little teasing before he sent him off.

Castiel got up and looked around for a bit, seeming a bit distracted. He swayed on his feet so much that Dean had to step in and give him a hand. “Whoa, you okay there, Cas?” Dean asked, quite frankly a bit worried he might’ve passed out and not fallen asleep, and that he was susceptible to doing so again. It was terrifying just to think about it. He didn’t need his angel falling into a coma, now.

The slightly shorter man on the other hand smiled at Dean gratefully. “Thank you, Dean.”

“Hey, don’t mention it.” He nodded, letting his hand fall back to his side. “You know, you don’t have to read that silly old book if it’s boring you enough to lull you into sleep.” Dean clarified playfully, and maybe even a bit hopefully. It was a nicer thought than the idea that he had hadn’t actually fallen asleep, anyway.

At that, Castiel shook his head immediately. “No, there’s nothing wrong with the book. If anything, it’s quite enjoyable…I’m just worn out, I suppose.” The angel reassured.

“Huh,” Dean said, trying to sound thoughtful but feeling rather worried instead. “No kidding. Well, if you’re that tuckered out, maybe you should stay in bed.” He insisted.

His companion looked crestfallen at that. “I’m fine. Really, Dean.” He replied curtly, which had Dean blinking at the sudden change of attitude. Of course, his body wasn’t about to let him lie that big, and Dean saw where Cas’ cheeks inflated as he held in a cough.

“Spit it out, you child.” Dean chastised as he pounded the angel’s back gently.

Castiel, to Dean’s surprise, coughed even harder than he’d expected, making Dean almost flinch and retreat his hand back like it had burned him. Castiel tried not to look like he had been caught with his hand halfway into the cookie jar, but it was obvious he wasn’t doing too good of a job as Dean’s stern gaze made him look down at his feet bashfully.

“Okay, that’s it. You’re going back to bed, mister. Sam can make you some of that alphabet soup you like if you want but you’re not doing yourself any favours by staying down here.

“What’s going on?” Sam asked, luckily, carrying a thick, leather, maroon book with him. If Dean had to guess, they had finally hit the jackpot.

“This little trooper over here’s goin’ to bed.” Dean relayed.

Sam gave Dean a funny look but nodded. “Yeah, that sounds like a plan.”

Castiel looked betrayed. “Sam.” He said, as if looking to change his mind.

“Nope, we’ve got work to do, and you’re still drowsy.” Sam stated, his mind clearly set.

The shorter of the three frowned, but then looked up incredulously. “You didn’t actually find something, did you?” he asked aloud.

Dean looked panicked, throwing a worried glance over to Sam behind Cas’ back, but Sam simply waved them both off. “Nah, this is for a case.” He elucidated.

The blonde had to applaud Sam on the nice save. Meanwhile, Castiel seemed to have taken the bait as he looked a bit sad. “Oh, I see. You guys are working on a case, I wasn’t even aware.”

“Really? I thought I told you. It’s just a small one, Cas. Nothing to get all mopey about. Besides, it would make Dean and I feel pretty useless if we needed you for a hunt as simple as this one.” Sam said smoothly as he juggled his gun out of his pocket. “It should only take us about an hour or two to take care of sense it’s in the next two towns over. Just your standard salt and burn.”

Dean was shocked with just how well Sam was able to lie in front of Castiel, and without a single stutter or pause. I mean, to lie in front of a stranger was one thing, but this was _Cas_. He didn’t know if he should applaud Sam, or be worried that he’d lost his soul for a second time. Then again, soulless Sam probably wouldn’t have consoled him the way this Sam did. Either way, Sam could lie like there was no mañana apparently.

That aside, Cas’ mind seemed more at ease as he nodded back at the younger Winchester. “Alright, I’ll leave you two then.” He said, turning slowly toward the hallway.

Once he was gone and they were sure of it, Dean turned back to Sam. “So?”

The taller one shook his head. “Not here.” Sam said vaguely, incase Cas still had his celestial “super hearing”. He doubted it but better safe than sorry. Dean seemed to catch on and nodded.

 

They had driven a good nine miles away from town to a hotel where they would be able to test out Sam’s ritual. When they had finally gotten a room and lugged up all of the things they were going to need, Dean asked Sam about the book.

“So like, is this it, or are we missing stuff? ‘Cause if we are, we don’t have much time to lose. If we’re gone for more than three hours, Cas is gonna freak and come looking for us.” Dean reminded him. Despite his tone, Dean secretly felt a warm tug in his heart at the prospect of having someone to come home to and to worry about. It was nice to think that if something happened, there would still be someone who cared enough to search for them, but at the same time it was petrifying. In the end it was still something he’d rather have, but now he had to make sure he and Sammy made it back now that they were living for not only themselves but for Cas too. Someone had to be there for the little guy just like he had always been there for them.

 _Always putting us first…_ Dean thought

Sam broke Dean out of his train of thought when he grabbed the book and began to flip through its pages swiftly, stopping and scanning it with his fingers running over the page. “Okay, so, this book talks about something that elusively resembles Fate. In part of the introduction, it reads, _‘If one shall want to contact a sister of scripture whose devotions are of coding life and deciding fixtures, then you must first offer up the bone of one whose travels have come across multiple times, the blood of one whose living body has crossed between worlds of parallel, and the hair of someone who's walked among the departed as an outcast and played at the cards of death to symbolize the thread that rewrites pasts.’_ Sound like Fate to you?” Sam inquired.

Dean shrugged. “Could be. But then again, I’m not fluent in _geek_.” He smirked.

Sam had half a mind to chunk the book at Dean but decided against it only at the thought that it might get damaged and they lose the summoning spell due to it. Instead, he resorted to a simple, “Shut up, jerk.”

“Bitch.” Dean chirped back.

Shaking his head, Sam went along with his explanation. “Anyway, if my predictions are correct, the first ingredient is hinting at someone who’s travelled in time, and we’ve only come across one person who’s done that, and it’s our grandfather. I suppose Castiel’s vessel would count, but you can see how that’s out of the question.”

Dean nodded fervently at that. And then there was also them, but it was obvious why Sam hadn’t even bothered with that suggestion. Even though Cas could technically regrow their bones, the notion of it still sounded far too painful to bear when they had other options. Not only that, but having the angel exert energy he didn’t really have didn’t sound like much of a plan either. “Yeah, like hell we’re going to help speed up his death.” The blonde agreed. “So what are the other two?”

“Well, I think the second one is talking about someone who’s been to both heaven and hell, or purgatory and earth. Either way, I’ve been to all four, so it should work if I use my blood for that, but the last part sounds a bit fuzzy to me. I could be wrong, but it almost sounds as if though it’s talking about someone who’s _reaped souls_. I’ve read something similar, but basically, playing at the cards of death was a reaper. They try to play you into succumbing to death fully so that you can rest. After all it’s their job. But what else is a reaper? An outcast. While I doubt they’re living, they still stand out because of their job.”

“So what, we’re just supposed to shove a reaper in the room and expect it to just stand still while we pluck its hair that it may or may not have?” Dean asked skeptically. I mean, from his experience, most reapers seemed to be old guys with hardly any hair to spare. Tessa had been the only exception to that rule as far as he’d seen, and she was dead. “We can’t even see them without crossing over. Only Cas can.” He further pointed out.

Sam shook his head. “No need to, because we have you.”

Dean gave Sam the most ridiculous face he could muster up. “Thanks for the moral support, Sammy, but I’m no reaper smuggler.” He replied flatly, holding back the urge to sound incredibly sarcastic. Pamela was the damn psychic, not _him_. Not to mention, she was _also_ dead.

Sam rolled his eyes at his older brother. “Yeah, I _know_ that, Dean. But you _have_ reaped souls, remember?”

The older Winchester’s brows furrowed deeply until it hit him. “Hold up, are you talking about that time I tried to be as bamf as death but failed?” he said, holding his hand up like a stop sign. When Sam nodded, he just shrugged. “Well if you say so, I’ll get to a’yanking.” He conceded nonchalantly, tugging at a small hair from the top of his head. When it didn’t budge, he grumbled something about how it was a damn shame that it couldn’t be done with Sam’s hair as it was longer and therefore easier to pull out. When he finally managed to degrade himself of one perfectly shiny, dirty blonde hair, he whispered, “You will be missed, you brave little soldier.”

After dropping it into the bowl, his brother feigned a look of surprise. “Dude, that hair was totally white!” he yelled out in mock horror.

“Shaddap!” Dean cried.

Once they were done and all the ingredients were placed in the bowl and all the symbols were located in their respective places, Sam began to recite the spell, Dean standing by his side with Cas’ angel blade tucked into the waistband of his worn-out jeans just in case. When Sam finished, nothing had seemed to be affected, not even the closed curtains had moved an inch. At the outcome Dean screeched, “Shit! We forgot something didn’t we?! Of fuckin’ _course_ we did!!” he complained, throwing a random pack of gum at the ground. “I bet it was the stupid hair!”

“Dean!” Sam reprimanded. “Calm down! It couldn’t have been the hai—Wait, is that my pack of gum?” he asked, suddenly remembering that his was still missing in action.

“What? No.” Dean said simply, maintaining eye-contact and slowly stuffing the cardboard box back into his pocket. “Yeesh, trust issues much?”

Sam was about to retaliate and bitchface his ass back to hell when suddenly someone coughed obnoxiously loud. Dean had jumped into Sam’s arms with a yelp and the moose had knocked over a lamp with a spastic karate kick he failed to land properly.

“Uh huh, interesting….” A woman with glasses and a book tucked into her arm said, looking around the dump with faint interest.

Immediately, Dean shot out of Sam’s arms and dusted himself off hastily. “Jesus, Sammy! Why ya gotta be so damn clingy? I swear you got that from Dad.” He snorted while shaking his head.

Sam’s eye twitched irately but he just shrugged it off. “Right. Anyway, Fate. We’ve got to talk. Please.” Sam asked, oddly polite for Dean’s taste.

The blonde woman who quite remarkably resembled a librarian looked at him indignantly. “Talk? Are you kidding me? How dare you summon me! I am a very busy woman. I don’t have time to be dwaddling with you two savages. I’ve got history to write!”

“Ouch. Okay miss ‘my-problems-are-bigger-than-yours’, how about we put it this way, talk with us, or rot in here for all eternity.” Dean offered mischievously.

“Are you threatening me?” She said, squinting at him accusingly.

Sam’s hands flew up in a gesture of solidarity. “Whoa, no!! We just wanna ask you some questions!” He elbowed Dean’s arm sharply with another complimentary bitchface to match, earning a satisfying grunt from his brother in return.

“Ow! What the hell?” Dean rubbed his bicep painfully but otherwise kept his mouth shut this time.

The blonde woman watched them both with barely contained impatience. “Well? What is it?”

“Can you scratch Cas off your death list?” Dean blurted out before Sam could even try to come up with a more eloquent solution, making him look positively ill at Dean once more. The dirty blonde simply scowled back, unwilling to back down. “ _What?_ ”

Fate looked taken aback. “I had heard the rumours of Castiel dying, but I didn’t think it was true. So he really did cause the fall, didn’t he?” She huffed in displeasure, automatically having an idea of what exactly he had done to get him in such a position. “He’s been a pesky little problem for my job ever since he came to earth. You do realize how many humans died due to that stupid fall, don’t you? And you ask me to _spare_ him?” she hissed.

“Hey! You watch your filthy mouth!” Dean growled back. “He was _tricked_ , alright? By one of his own kind, Metatron! If there’s anyone to blame, it’s him!”

“Dean!” Sam growled. “I get you’re offended, I am too, but she’s our only hope right now!” Sam whispered urgently.

She didn’t seem to care either way. “Well, even if I _did_ want to help you guys out, there isn’t a single thing I can do.” She explained, earning identical looks of disbelief from both brothers.

“What? But you’re _Fate_. I mean, you practically control who dies and who lives, right?” Sam argued, trying to get his thoughts in order.

The small woman turned and scowled at the younger Winchester’s ignorance. “Not exactly. I just know who’s supposed to die and when. And if for some reason they don’t, that’s when I have to step in and take matters into my own hands. But even then, I only control the fate of living _humans_. Anything other than that isn’t within my power to control. In fact, angels are supposed to be agents of fate, making sure that things go as planned, such as the apocalypse you two so kindly threw to the wind.” She reminded with a heated glare. “But as luck would have it, the moment Castiel began walking the earth, things have stopped being so predictable for me, and as a result, so much harder! There is a balance I have to keep, y’know!” she whined.

Dean looked at his imaginary watch on his wrist and tapped his foot impatiently. “Uh-huh, and then what?” he said in mock interest. For someone who apparently didn’t have time, she sure had quite the mouth on her.

“What I’m trying to get at is that no one can just create life from scratch. Not even Death can do that. Only one person has ever been able to, and that’s God.” She said matter of factly. “And with Castiel’s grace potentially non-existent, that is essentially what must be done. So can I leave now?”

“Yeah, sure. Thanks for helping us out, Fate.” Sam said, nodding appreciatively.

Without further ado, she disappeared, leaving them with hardly anything gained.

“Dammit!” Dean griped. “Now what?”

Sam looked stumped. “What else is there to do, Dean? You heard her, only God can save Cas now, and he’s gone.”

 

* * *

 

Dean poked his head out from under his folded arms on the table as Sam chopped carrots for Cas’ chicken/letter soup. Dean honestly didn’t understand why he placed all these other things in the soup when it made the letters harder to spot, but when Sam insisted it was healthier this way, he didn’t question it further and just let him be. Besides, Cas seemed to like it, and according to him, his dying grace seemed to have leaked out some of his humanity again, and therefore allowing him to taste food as more than just molecules. Both Sam and him seemed to agree that the healthy stuff helped balance the flavour.

“You think God’ll bring back Cas again?” he asked, despite already knowing the answer.

Sam turned to glance at Dean before turning his attention back to the knife in hand. He had to give him points for being so persistent. “I don’t know Dean, he did slit an angel’s throat and stole its grace.” He pointed out.

The dirty blonde snorted. “Yeah, but only because Metadouche did it to him first.” He defended. “Oh come on Sam, don’t tell me you actually think this is all Cas’ fault!”

Sam stopped chopping. “No, of course not! I’m just trying to be realistic here, Dean. I mean, someone has to be, right?”

Dean deflated. “Yeah, I guess... But that doesn’t mean you have to be so pessimistic about it.”

“Well, things are looking pretty bleak right now. I’m just saying it how it is.” The brunette insisted.

There was a moment of silence as Sam continued to cook before Dean spoke out again, running a finger over the smooth table top blankly. “Karma’s a bitch.” He said simply, as if that excused Cas’ actions automatically.

The younger Winchester craned his head to give him a funny look. “You do realize that’s not how it works, right?”

Dean sniffed. “If I recall correctly, Cas said, and I quote, ‘The angel whose grace I stole sought to serve Metatron’. In my book, that’s close enough.”

Sam shook his head and chuckled. “Right.”

Dean made circles into the table in deep thought. It was true that God said he wasn’t getting involved anymore, but did that mean that they truly had full reign to do whatever it was that they pleased? After all, even with God out of the picture, everyone still seemed to be trying to follow up on his example, and in a way, Dean couldn’t blame them. God gave them all purpose. However, letting your own children die seemed pretty cold-hearted in his mind, especially after having abandoned them first, leaving them helpless and desperate. He just didn’t get it. Regardless of their flaws, how could he let one of his own die like that _without_ lifting a seldom finger? What kind of father did that?

He remembered the blind faith Castiel used to have in his father despite never having even met the man, and it made Dean feel unbelievably betrayed. While his father wasn’t perfect like God was said to be _—a_ _lthough Dean could probably think up a long list of how he felt he was otherwise_ _—_ his dad always came through for them in the end, even putting their lives before his. If that was imperfection, then he was glad his dad was the way he was.

 _Well, you’ve still got us,_ Dean’s own words rang in his mind as he remembered the somewhat defeated look on Cas’ face when he had lost his army for him. He knew it was a cocky thing to say, and at the time, that’s exactly what he felt, but in spite of that, he had meant it. Even if Cas was shunned by the whole world, Sam and Dean would always stand by his sides to push him back on his feet, because they would always be family. They were all they had now, and he wasn’t about to let anyone die again. Not when they had already lost so much.

That was when it hit him.

_Metatron._

It was their last link and resort in finding Cas’ grace, and it was a chance he was willing to take.

Perhaps it was a fitting end, burning out in a bright flame as do those who are named after the celestial entities of this world. It was worthy of an angel who fought for what he saw as good in his heart until the end.

Too bad Dean never did believe in such “ _endings_ ”.

Even after the release of sweet death, there were still battles to be fought, things that needed to be done, and always something to fight for. To protect…

And right now, that something was Cas. And as long as he was still around, that was exactly what he was going to do.

Dean grabbed his leather jacket and made for the door in one swift motion, making sure as to not alert either of the residents as he slipped into his baby once more. He gave it a good pat before starting up the engine and rolling off to somewhere more private.

Eventually, he came to a stop at a lonely Gas ’N Sip where he swung the car door open and sighed heavily, squinting hesitantly as he thought of how he was going to go on about this. He closed his eyes after some more thought and nodded reassuringly to himself.

“Okay,” he breathed, “Hannah, if you’re there…I’ve got a favor to ask.” He peeked open one eye and saw that his audience remained MIA, so he continued. “Look, I know we haven’t exactly been the best of friends, but I really need your help. It’s about Cas, he’s real messed up and I—”

There was a fluttering of wings and a soft gust of wind that blew Dean’s bright green eyes open to attention. He almost felt annoyed that she only responded once there was any mention of Cas, but he pushed it aside to focus on the bigger picture here. He didn’t have time for that right now.

“I hear you, Dean.” She said somewhat warily, obviously still skeptical about his entire existence, and maybe even a little jealous that he remained a highly valued friend of Castiel’s, more so than any angel could ever hope to be. And he didn’t blame her; he wasn’t exactly the best role model in the world, or even reliable one for that matter, and he sure as hell hadn’t been the most supportive friend in light of recent events either. Not that he could’ve controlled how he thought then but… He shook his head.

“I need to speak with Metatron.” He stated, cutting right to the chase. He didn’t have any time to waste, so there wasn’t much of a need to beat around the bush.

At this proclamation, Hannah glared down Dean fiercely. She wasn’t about to let the whole Tessa ordeal slip through her memory just yet, and Dean had already predicted as much. “Why should I let you speak with him?” she soliloquized defiantly, practically ready to shoot one through the hunter’s head.

“Calm down, I’m just going to interrogate him. No weapons, promise.” Dean reassured, putting his hands up to demonstrate his lack of usual violent instruments. “You can check me if you want, but I need to meet up with him ASAP. I have no idea how much longer Cas is going to be able to hold up back in the bunker, and right now, Metatron is my only lead.”

She was quiet for some time, seemingly weighing the consequences, but it didn’t take a genius to figure that Cas deserved anything and everything they could possibly do for him. The poor guy fought for his people even when everyone had turned against him. He deserved this and the damn _world_.

With one last reluctant look, she nodded. “Fine, but I’ll be watching you as you do it.”

At that, Dean had no objections. He was just about willing to accept any terms if it meant retrieving his friend’s grace. His _life_. The one he himself might as well have taken away from him.

Walking up to him, she sighed. “I’ve already tried questioning him myself, as well as a handful of others, but he just won’t say a thing that matters. It’s like he thinks this is all a joke.”

Dean gave her a small, playful shrug. “The guy thinks he’s hot when he’s not. Wants to play it big.” He offered, somewhat consoling her. “But he’s also the only one who knows anything about Cas’ grace, so he can still make his ugly ass useful.” he reminded, before smirking mischievously. “Besides, you angels tend to be rather unconvincing in the art of extracting information. So let the pro handle this.”

At his smug demeanor, Hannah huffed, practically poking his head to the pavement in annoyance. “Just get him to talk.” She grumbled, and just like that, they were in heaven.

As per usual, Dean felt mildly disoriented at being teleported when he snapped out of it. He whistled though as he looked around in pure fascination. “Wow, I feel like I’m inside a Wells Fargo.” Dean hummed positively as he was met with a scene equivalent to the show “The Office,” except this would be an angel edition where everyone was boring and actually competent.

Looking back at Hannah shortly, Dean whistled. “You guys got a waffle station too?”

The angel rolled her eyes before leading him towards a gleaming set of double doors. But before Hannah could guide him through them, the blonde stopped her. “Hey, wait.”

Seemingly confused, Hannah stopped to fold her arms in front of her chest expectantly, a stern look adorning her features.

“I don’t think you should come with me.”

“Why not?” Hannah frowned, obviously suspicious of his motives. “You can’t really expect me to just let you go in there on your own. Not after what happened _last_ time.”

“Look, I get it. You don’t trust me. Heck, _I_ don’t trust me half the time, but I’m not saying don’t watch. What I’m saying is _don’t follow_. Stay hidden or something. I need him to believe that it’s just him and me. You know how cocky he can be, having you around will only make it harder to squeeze anything out of him.”

She seemed to contemplate the idea, which was a good thing because it meant that she was swayable, but luckily enough, she seemed to convince herself on her own as she nodded. “Fine. As long as I get to watch you, I don’t see why not.”

“Exactly.” Dean happily agreed.

“But I’m warning you, if you actually try to do anything to him, you’ll have the wrath of a thousand angels to worry about.” She reminded bitterly.

“Dully noted,” the freckled boy chirped, mock saluting her in response.

Once passed the entrance, Dean was met with what he could only describe as Olympic jail. The whole structure looked like ancient ruins, all white pillars and stone, and all the jail cells were sealed off by corroding, thick bars. As he walked along the seemingly endless corridor, Dean stopped abruptly once he’d heard a snicker.

“Well if it isn’t Dean _Lose_ chester.”

At the remark, the dirty blonde held back the urge to be immensely irritated. He was being watched, which meant he couldn’t _actually_ punch the guy, no matter how badly he wanted to. Which was a shame since he still owed him a good beating for what he did to Cas, and another for killing him and activating the mark. If it hadn’t been for his ugly mug, neither of them would’ve been in this damn mess in the first place. Regardless, he needed information, and he happened to have it.

“Metadouche.” Dean greeted back wryly, his sour smile turning into that of a genuine one when he saw the look of annoyance that showered over the stout angel’s face at the nickname he’d gotten back.

He simply snorted in response though, recovering quite smoothly. “Let me guess, _Ass_ tiel not doing so hot?” When the look the elder Winchester gave him seemed to confirm his suspicions, God’s scribe seemed elated, his whole face beaming with satisfaction at his work. Dean was so dangerously close to losing his temper that he had to dig his hands into his pockets for fear that he’d clock the stupid angel in attempt at protecting Cas’ honour, but he reeled it in. Getting kicked out wasn’t an option… _yet_.

“To be fair, I’m surprised he’s even lasted this long. I was betting on him dying before you got your sanity back. It really is a shame.” He sneered, his god-awful giggling making Dean practically gag. “Although, I could still be right. After all, you’ve still got that mark on you. Who’s to say you won’t bust out a few screws by that time? You’ve only been free for about a month and a half anyway, and that thing is eventually going to start collecting what’s overdue.”

While the thought of the mark taking over him once more terrified him like crazy, Dean was much more preoccupied by the feeling of his blood boil at the thought of Metatron making bets in his mind on when Cas was going to die— _which he wasn’t_ , Dean pointedly reminded himself—but he simply tried to remain optimistic. “He’s not going to die. I’ll make sure of that.”

This made Metatron hum pleased. “So this _is_ about Castiel.” He grinned. “Good.”

Dean didn’t like the sound of that, so he remained quiet, gauging Metatron until he decided to elaborate.

When the dirty blonde didn’t make a move, surely enough, Metatron made his. “Look, here’s the deal, lover boy. You bust me out of here, and I promise to never bother you or your pet angel ever again. Hell, I’ll even run off to another planet, maybe even a different galaxy. Earth’s overrated anyway. And in return for your service, I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. That is assuming this is all about Castiel’s grace—which yes, before you ask, is still in existence. Consider it proof of my willingness to cooperate once you’ve set me free.”

As tempting as it was to think of Metatron spilling the beans on everything, it definitely wasn’t worth letting him go. He was _their_ problem, and he wasn’t about to let him screw up some other place on their behalf, so he held himself back hesitantly. “No.” Dean bit out, and Metatron deflated, which, Dean had to admit, was pretty much worth every ounce of extra work he’d have to do.

_“What?”_

“I said no.” the elder Winchester reiterated flatly. “We’re not doing things your way. We’re doing them my way.”

“ _Oh_.” Metatron mused, too smugly for Dean to not feel threatened by it. “So you think you’ve got control over this situation.”

What did this idiot think? _Of course I do._ “I have your freedom in my courtyard.”

“You _think_ you have my freedom. But I will get out eventually. It might take a little longer, a few hundred years or so, maybe even millennia, but I will still get out, and there’s nothing you, nor any angel could do about it.” The gray haired man spat out, and Dean felt his brows furrow in annoyance.

He had to hand it to him, that probably took a _lot_ of patience.

“Well, until then, you’re just a sitting duck, so why not be a good little angel and help a brother out?” Dean shrugged, and Metatron scowled.

“It’s called leverage, bucko, and therefore, I’m not giving it up so easily. I mean, you honestly came here thinking I’d tell you where Castiel’s grace is for _fun?_ ” Metatron sneered, and Dean had to resist an eye-roll. “I literally get nothing out of it!”

The Winchester looked at him incredulously. “Nothing? He’s your _family!_ ” the dirty blonde insisted heatedly, and Metatron’s smile only got screwier.

“No, he’s a _pawn_.” As Dean felt his anger swell inside him, the heartless jerk continued. “Hey, he might mean something to you Losechesters, but to me, he’s just a potential asset. But seeing as he rebelled time in and again for you lame-wads, I have no use for him anymore. What’s an angel’s worth if it can’t even serve heaven properly?” Metatron reasoned, and suddenly, the hunter knew that he wasn’t gonna get anything out of him this way.

“Okay then,” Dean finally replied, his tone clipped as he eyed the plump angel fiercely. “Time for plan B.” Feeling an odd rush of adrenaline, the Winchester kicked at the old lock on the cell before it flew open with a loud crash, startling Metatron in the process. Stepping back into a corner, Dean could only hope that Hannah wouldn’t interrupt. He hadn’t hurt him yet after all. “You wanna talk about what’s fun? Me torturing you until you give me what I want.” Green eyes surveyed frightened blue ones as he neared the tied up angel steadily. “And if you still have troubles talking, then comes the _really_ fun part, where I just kill you.” He growled lowly, enjoying the sudden flinch Metatron gave him in return.

“Y-you think that I buy that crap?! There isn’t anything you could do to me so long as I’m in this cell. I know the angels watch me like hawks, which means I’m also protected by them. You wouldn’t dare lay a hand on me so long as they’re in the fray!” the stout angel affirmed, but Dean wasn’t interested.

“Oh really?” Stepping into his personal space, he didn’t relent. “You really think that?” As the dirty-blonde lifted him up by the collar to whisper into his ear menacingly, Metatron promptly whimpered out in fear. “Then I don’t think you know me very well because…” pushing him roughly up against the wall until his feet were left hanging underneath him, Dean growled, “I don’t give a rat’s ass about what they want. I’m here for Cas, not them. And if you think that I’d put any other flying dick in front of him, then you’d better guess again.”

Struggling to maintain his dignity, Metatron coughed out a throaty, “I don’t believe you.”

“Well then, it looks like I’ll have fun carving out your deathbed then.” Dean said simply, and the subsequent look Metatron gave him could probably burn through steel.

“Then I won’t be able to tell you anything!” the gray-haired angel rasped, but the hunter was back on top of him in a matter of seconds.

“You won’t tell me anything anyways,” he retorted, and that shut him up pretty good, cuing him to drive his point further. “You’re just as useless to me dead or alive, so what does it matter? But I’m not like most people. I don’t think people change, and I say better dead than sorry.” The hunter explained ominously, and suddenly, realization seemed to dawn on Metatron as Dean saw a spark of panic flash by his dismal blue eyes.

Panicking, the angel struggled in his solid grip. “You think that everything is solved by violence, but it’s not!”

Dean flashed him a smirk and a playful shrug. “You’re free to prove me wrong if you’re so hell-bent on making me see otherwise.” The hunter assured, and the angel hesitated. But when his mouth succeeded in only grounding his teeth back, Dean grinned again, smugly this time. “That’s what I thought.”

Knowing that there was no way out of this, Metatron made one last effort. He gulped. “Without me, you’ll never find Castiel’s grace. Ever.” He choked out.

“Oh, I think I can manage.” He reassured, his grip tightening around his collar until he was silently choking him. He couldn’t give himself away just yet, anyway. “It can’t be harder than finding the damn first blade,” he reassured, and that’s when Metatron finally saw it; there was a sudden flash of evil intent that filled Dean’s eyes to the brim in pure, sinful obsidian as his grip became much too tight to be humanly possible and his smile contorted into something truly sadistic.

And just like that, he wasn’t quite Dean Winchester anymore.

 

**Author's Note:**

> *maniacal laughter in the distance*  
> GONNA GO AHEAD AND THANK MY AWESOME BETA READER AGAIN BECAUSE HOLY HELL THEY ARE AWESOME! You can find their tumblr here! http://maidmisha.tumblr.com/ (Warning, they and their blog are cute af!!)


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